


The Best Days of His Life

by Jester85



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jester85/pseuds/Jester85
Summary: But for now, he's bounding through the surf toward the camera, arms thrown wide, the horizon stretching open and far.Somehow this got vaguely melancholy.





	The Best Days of His Life

Life is made of snatched little moments like this.

A snapshot, a commercial break.  Some waystation between the last chapter and the next, neatly catalogued and filed away in Marvel filming dates.

Right now, he's missing his brothers and hoping they're doing well, but Tessa is bounding down the beach and playing in the surf, and he's charging into the waves and letting them crash down onto him, and Haz has the camera, and right at this moment, his life is nothing but bliss.

There might come a time when he looks back on these as the best days of his life, bursting at the seams with limitless possibilities, throwing his arms open and wide and crowing up at the spotless deepening blue sky still lit with the fading light of the set sun along the band on the horizon, the waves rolling in around his legs.

There might come a time when Old Tom might whisper in the careless ear of youth, "you will never be happier than you are right now, in this moment".

Times might come, tough choices and the inevitable heartbreaks of even a happy life, and the uncertainty and cruelty of a fickle business.

Time catches up with everyone, even a boy twenty-one and looking younger, face all lit up like sunshine, who to look at right now, in this moment, you could swear age could never lay a finger on him.

He's charging awkwardly toward shore as if swept in by the sea, arms flung out, eyes fixed on Haz, who's standing and giggling while trying to hold the camera steady and not joining him in the surf because they're nowhere near sappy enough to do something as disgustingly romantic as running into each other's arms ~~except they totally are.~~

This might be the most purely happy he'll ever be.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  It's not for him to say, and with the carefree sureness of youth he's not giving it any thought anyway.  In this moment, he'd swear it's unthinkable that anything could ever touch _this_.  Maybe he's wrong.  Maybe he's right. 

_Maybe_.

But for now, he's bounding through the surf toward the camera, arms thrown wide, the horizon stretching open and far.

 


End file.
